


Time will remember us

by enfantdivine



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Father/Son Incest, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3116261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enfantdivine/pseuds/enfantdivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil is afflicted by visions of a tragic future for his people, and it is Legolas who must find a way to make his worries and fears subside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time will remember us

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic mostly because I know exactly what is going to happen in it, which is not something common for me (I usually let the plot lead me). There are going to be three chapters, and I really hope I'll find the motivation to finish it (and I should, because I already found fitting lyrics for each chapter, and that's very important to me, lol). Anyway, if I don't, there is no cliffhanger at the end of the first chapter, so the fact that it's not complete shouldn't be a reason not to read it. I also want to mention that I'm very glad I fixed that stupid line in BotFA, to me that's the greatest thing I managed to accomplish with this fic ^_^ I hope you enjoy it, and sorry about any mistakes!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Suilaid = greetings  
> Adar = father  
> Ada = dad, daddy  
> Meleth = love  
> Ion nín = my son

 

 _However great the fear,_   
_I will not look away_   
_If, at the end of everything,_   
_There is love._

*

The gates of the Elvenking’s Halls opened to allow Legolas and his patrol enter. The group was returning after days of scouting Mirkwood’s western borders and outskirts, from the Forest River to Rhovanion, in search of any sign of a possible danger to the safety of their realm. They had found none though. The elves appointed to guard the Forest Gate had informed them that no incident had taken place in the area they covered in their marches since the New Year had begun, and the Woodmen living south of the Old Forest Road had confirmed they had been living peacefully for many months. The menace coming from Dol Guldur existed still, but the darkness that resided there remained contained within the fortress’ walls, too weak to spread for the time being. Therefore, the prince and his squad had made their way back to their dwelling with no worrying news. 

At their return, they found that the patrol led by Tauriel had come back as well, not much earlier. The Captain of the Elven Guard greeted the newly-arrived, and gave Legolas a warm embrace the prince reciprocated. They were close like siblings, and they rejoiced at seeing each other again, safe and unharmed.

“We went to Dale first, like you said,” she reported briefly. “King Bard agreed to help us and sent a group of men to patrol northwards along Mirkwood’s border, to the Forest River and back. They found nothing worrisome or even unusual, as we were told when we returned from our quest. It was completely quiet on the eastern side of the forest as well. We met elves that live near the border, and they said it was long since they had last seen someone passing by, except for other elves, of course, and a few people from Esgaroth who fancied a longer boat trip down Celduin. It is not my place to draw a conclusion, Legolas, but I do not think any immediate danger is upon us.”

“Neither do I,” the prince agreed with a sigh. “What of the king? Have you spoken with him?”

“No. I meant to, but he was not awake when I arrived.” 

“No matter. I shall go see him now, and inform him of your findings, or lack thereof, as well.” 

A maid approached them with a bowl full of lukewarm water and a small bar of soap, and Legolas washed his face and hands thoroughly. “I shall not say this to anyone else, Tauriel,” he said, drying his skin with the cloth the maid provided him when he was done washing, “but a thought crossed my mind when I passed through the gates. A thought I am not proud of, but which I could not help.” He gave the cloth back to the maid, thanking her, and headed towards the Great Hall with Tauriel following him. “I found myself wishing I had seen something–” He paused and looked down at his moving feet with a small frown. “ _Anything_ that could support his convictions. That much the thought he might be wrong unsettles me, although I do not want him to be right.”

“I understand your conflict,” she replied with kindness. “But even _he_ would be glad if he was wrong. Keep that in mind.” 

“Indeed,” he smiled. “I wish he had at least a grain of doubt though.”

When Legolas arrived in the Great Hall, Thranduil was still not there. “Galion came earlier to tell us it should not be expected that the king will leave his chambers today, my prince,” one of the guards let him know.

“Is my father not well?” Legolas asked with concern.

“We were told nothing more. But he must want to see you after all this time you have been away. Galion should pass him word of your return – shall I send for him?”

“No, Feren, I will find out personally what ails the king. Thank you.”

The prince had instantly become worried. Thranduil was one of the most powerful beings he knew. The fact he had decided to stay in his room all day was, at the very least, not a good sign. The prince picked up his step to reach the royal quarters faster.

“Suilaid, Galion,” he greeted the butler, who guarded the door to Thranduil’s chambers. Galion bowed his head, but he did not get to say anything in return due to Legolas’ haste. “Is the king in there?”

“He is, indeed, my lord Legolas. But– Forgive me. You are not allowed to see him. He commanded me not to let anyone through this door, and especially…” The elf averted his eyes in an embarrassed manner.

“Go on,” Legolas urged him. He wanted nothing more than to see and talk to his father, and he was starting to lose his patience.

“Especially you, my prince.”

“Were these his words?” Legolas asked after a brief moment of shock. Galion nodded, finally finding the strength to look at him. “Did he say why?”

“I wish that he did.” 

It was hard to believe that Thranduil refused to see his son. That could not be possible, unless he was too drunk or he had lost his mind, but Legolas sensibly excluded those alternatives. No matter what the reason was though, he could not be kept from seeing his father by anyone. If Thranduil did not want him there, he had to tell it to Legolas himself.

Without another word, the prince simply opened the door and stepped into the room before the unsuspecting Galion could realize what he was about to do. “Adar,” he began to say as soon as he entered, but the butler cut him off desperately.

“I am sorry, my lord, I told the prince you did not want to see him! I did not expect him to rush in like this… My prince, please, come with me. Perhaps you could visit your father later.”

“Get out, Galion,” Legolas said sternly, not looking at him. “I would have words with the king.” His attention was already focused solely on Thranduil, who leaned against the window frame, his long fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved in it with slow, absent moves. An almost empty glass of wine hung loosely in his other hand. He wouldn’t turn to face them, as if he hadn’t heard Legolas calling him – as if he didn’t care. The world outside interested him more. The prince wanted to run to him, to grip his shoulder tight, yank him around so he could see his face and make sure he listened when he’d tell him there was nothing for them to fear.

“Leave!” he restated his command, this time giving the butler an intent glare. He hadn’t raised his voice – just like his father, he didn’t need to in order to make others listen – but he had spoken that single word with such intensity that probably not even the king could have made Galion stay.

“Adar,” Legolas addressed Thranduil again when they were alone, and he approached him, respectfully stopping a few steps away. If it was true his parent didn’t want to see him, he didn’t want to force him to. “Why will you not look at me? Have I done anything to upset you?”

It wasn’t even noon yet, but the room was dark, despite the wide open window. The forest’s shadow had no power there, but the sun stayed hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds, and the soft, grey light they let pass through was far too weak. Two candles were burning on the dressing table, in front of the mirror, spreading an eerie glow. Their flame was flickering, as slowly and as randomly as the king’s fingers on the window’s frame. There _was_ motion, but nothing seemed alive, and Legolas’ body trembled with a brief, unpleasant shiver.

“Please talk to me,” he asked, “if only to send me away.”     

The movement of Thranduil’s fingers ceased. He raised his glass, and his resplendent hair reached down past his waist as he tilted his head back to swallow the last sip. “Send you away?” he spoke, a hint of irony to his tone. “Did I not try already? My orders are but empty words to you.” His voice filled the whole room, and Legolas rejoiced in hearing it again after the long days he had been gone.

“Forgive me, adar,” he said. “I merely wished to hear it from you. Ask me to leave, and so I shall.”

Thranduil looked at him over his shoulder, then fully turned his face towards him. “Leave, then,” he retorted coldly, his harmonious features still, displaying no legible expression. But there was a storm inside him that he could barely contain, and Legolas could feel it raging beneath his father’s flesh, see it in the darkened blue of his eyes. “But first, tell me what it is you want,” the king decided to concede.

“I want– I wanted to see you, first and foremost,” the prince said, trying not to let himself affected by Thranduil’s harsh words he could not find a reason for. “I have missed nothing more than you, these weeks I have been away.”

“My child,” the Elvenking uttered, and the momentary shadow of a comprehensive smile passed across his lips. He walked towards the dressing table, where a half-full wine carafe awaited him, and filled his glass again with a trembling hand Legolas noticed. “Did I not tell you not to go?” he asked, ice dripping from his tone again. 

“I had to! I did it to dispel your worries once and for all,” his son explained. “We scouted the entire area around Mirkwood, and King Bard offered us his help. No sign of danger did we find, not even in the south. The influence of Dol Guldur is weak, the Woodmen say, and indeed, the forest in those parts is clear. Mirkwood’s borders are safe, adar. We have lookouts all over, who keep a watchful eye out for any intruders, and allies who shall not let us down. If any threat is ever upon us, I have no doubt that we’ll find out in time to make the necessary preparations for a–”

His father’s bitter laughter cut him off. He frowned, hurt by Thranduil’s belittlement of his endeavor, but didn’t let another word out, waiting for him to justify his insulting reaction.

“Oh,” the king finally said as his laughter died, taking a quick sip of his freshly poured wine, “you may be my son, Legolas, but you are such a fool. No!” he barked, stopping the prince from defending himself, and scowled. “You spoke enough. Now let me tell you why your quest was useless. There _are_ no signs of danger, _that_ is why. Not ones that _you_ can find, at least, or any other creature. Not even the skin-changer in the west can, despite his many eyes and ears. But there _is_ danger, Legolas, as grim as it is inescapable, and you shall not believe that it is coming until it has arrived. No army shall be able to protect us then, no blade, no armor. No magic and no fortress strong.” Thranduil paused in his speech briefly, and looked away from the prince. When he resumed it, his confident voice quivered. “And we shall scatter in the wide forest beneath a canopy of flames with our flesh burning and bones melting, dying and not knowing why, for our killer shall remain unknown to us even after it is too late to fight back.” 

"Adar,” Legolas said softly, forgetting his intention to protest. “Speak of these things no more. They cause you too much grief.” The trembling of his parent’s hands increased, as well as the horror in his widening eyes, as if all that he had described was happening in front of him.

“It is I who sees this every night,” he ignored his son’s advice. “This ordeal has become my one and only dream, and in my heart I know it is much more than that. It is our fate, hard though I tried to deny it. It is the sign of danger that you could not find. Not a mere warning, but a prophecy that I so cruelly was revealed for reasons I can still not fathom.” A single tear rolled down his right cheek, a symbol of his fear and frustration, and Legolas hardly resisted the urge to go to him and wipe it away.

“Ada, I beseech you,” he pleaded as he saw the Elvenking’s distress. He wanted to comfort him more than anything. “Cease tormenting yourself!”

Thranduil started at the sound of Legolas’ words, as if he had just been awoken from a restless sleep. The glass dropped from his hand, shattering into crystal shards against the solid floor, and the very next moment, the prince’s arms were wrapping around his father, drawing him in a tight, reassuring embrace. “I’m sorry, ada,” he whispered. “I should have never left. I should have stayed with you.” Thranduil clung to him eventually, with dignified reluctance, his lips ghosting over his son’s forehead, but Legolas refused to let him go, even though he suddenly felt like he was the comforted one.

“No matter, dearest one. You are back now,” the king said with a weary smile, his hands gripping the leather protecting his son’s shoulder blades. He had begun having that dream he called a prophecy one month before Legolas had decided to assuage his worries by going on patrol, but that decision had failed to fulfill its purpose, and now, Thranduil’s state was much worse than when he had left him. That recurring vision of their kin’s terrible death was taking its toll on him. He seemed defeated, vulnerable. It scared the prince to see his powerful father like that on one hand, but on the other, it filled him with determination. He was not going to let anything happen to him, and no matter what it took, he would find a way to get him out of that abyss of terror Thranduil did not seem able to climb out of by himself. 

He brought one hand to the king’s face, and the tips of his fingers stroked the sculpted cheek with love and reverence. “And I shall not leave your side again. You need not worry, ada, I’ll chase away this accursed dream and let it trouble you no more – this I swear.”

For a moment, Thranduil seemed willing to say something in response. He merely smirked though, then the affection in his eyes prevailed, and the loving smile he gave his son warmed Legolas’ heart. “I love you so much,” the prince said softly, and he buried his face into his father’s neck, under his chin. Thranduil held him tighter and allowed his lips to linger on the top of his head in a kiss that spoke more about his feelings than any words.  

When their eyes met again, Legolas’ held a different kind of look. The adoration in them was now mixed with something much less pure, but just as intense, a burning need a son was not supposed to gaze on his parent with. Unbridled lust.

“Ion nín,” Thranduil uttered, not scoldingly, and not in protest, but with a knowing air, as if he had been expecting the moment his son would look at him like that. He seemed neither disturbed nor gladdened by it, and when the prince cradled his jaw in his both hands and pulled him in, he made no gesture to reject him. Legolas kissed his lips tentatively, closing his eyes, and the king simply let it happen with indifference.

“Did you not miss me, ada?” the younger elf asked. He drew his head back, and his hands descended on his father’s neck, unwilling to part with the warmth of his skin. He didn’t want to try to interpret Thranduil’s lack of reaction, not yet, but he couldn’t help feeling disheartened by it. “Did you not yearn for me the way I yearned for you?”

The Elvenking grabbed his wrists, and for a dreadful instant, Legolas feared he would push him away. But Thranduil just held them firmly, the strength of his grip balanced by the tenderness with which his thumbs stroked the prince’s skin. He didn’t say a thing, but there was no way he could hide his feelings from the one closest to him, his son, his secret lover. Legolas knew him too well.

“I am yours, adar, just as you are mine,” he told the king in a kind yet resolute tone, “and we are no one else’s. So shall it ever be.” He hoped his father took as much comfort in that truth as he did. There was no greater joy for him than knowing he was the only one Thranduil loved in all the ways someone could love. Not a single day had passed since Eru had allowed them to find their happiness in each other that Legolas had not thanked Him and all the Valar for it, for nurturing and strengthening their bond, for banishing their doubt and fear like the bright rays of Anor dissipated the night’s shadow every morning. Their complete, unfaltering loyalty to one another was centuries old. Nothing was powerful enough to come between them now, not even that vision that kept afflicting Thranduil, affecting his judgment and behavior.  

There was no hesitation in the second kiss Legolas pressed to his father’s lips. His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer once more with bold resolution, and this time, the king responded, unable to hold back any longer. The grip on his son’s wrists felt like a vise. The prince’s tongue sought entrance to his mouth, and when his parent granted it, his flavour, headier than any wine, flooded all of the younger elf’s senses, making him shudder. He tasted Thranduil further with frantic, growing passion, until his head started to spin, overcome with sensations only the Elvenking was capable to arouse in his body.

But the pleasure stemming from their intimate contact was short-lived. Thranduil’s silken tresses slipped through Legolas’ fingers as he broke loose from his son’s hold, and he began pacing the room hurriedly, haphazardly, as though in a panic, a deep frown marring his flawless face.

“Ada,” the prince panted, catching his breath. He made no effort now to hide the pain and confusion caused by the king’s rejection. He felt them seeping through his skin, eating at his heart. “Why?”    

“Get out,” Thranduil ordered, his voice incredibly controlled despite his discomposure. He glared at him with smoldering anger, and his features contorted with a slight, fleeting scowl of disgust as he brushed the back of his hand against his own mouth. “If this impending doom upon our kin is brought about by misdeeds and depravity, then no one is at fault more than I am. I had sooner die, Legolas, than bed my son again.” He passed by the younger elf, not gracing him with another glance, and sat on the stool in front of the dressing table, exhaling slowly. His eyes looked forward, pensive, lost, beyond his mirrored self. “Go now. Love another, while there is still time.” 

Stupefied, the prince said nothing in response, not right off, struggling to comprehend Thranduil’s words. The one he held most dear was forsaking him, and he was falling, falling into a pit of agony and darkness, deeper and faster every second. It hurt so much it took his breath away. Despair clouded his mind, flooded his soul, stiffened his limbs. He wanted to tear his own heart out. _Oh Valar_ , he thought, shutting his eyes tightly, _is this what dying feels like?_ He had to find a way to make it stop.

With a tremendous effort, he forced himself to turn around and look over to the king, whose stillness was now perfect. “Adar nín,” he said, his voice neutral, not betraying his turmoil, and it was then he realized what he wanted his father to know. “You are my king, but you do not command my heart. Even though,” he stressed as he assuredly closed the distance between them, “it belongs to you.” His stare caught Thranduil’s in the mirror and held it with an intensity that surprised even himself. Resting his hands on his beloved’s shoulders, he stood there for a while, letting the spark of newly-found confidence grow into a spreading flame that steadily melted his pain away. He could not let it overcome him, not now, when the moment had come for him to be strong once more. He feared – that he was unable to deny. It was not doubt he had to fight this time, but certainty, and he was all alone. _But we cannot be brave unless we are afraid_ , Thranduil had taught him. _Never let fear hold you back_. So Legolas never had. And he was not about to begin now.  

When his lips upturned in a smirk, his father’s mouth went slightly agape, bewilderment written all over his features as he witnessed the prince’s reaction. “Love another?” Legolas hissed, and leaned down, bringing his face so close to Thranduil’s their cheeks touched. In the mirror’s reflection, their eye contact lasted. “Oh, ada. Your orders are so cruel you will forgive my disobedience. Have I not pledged myself to you, body and soul, forever?” His arms encircled the king’s neck, the fingers of his left hand trailing along his jaw, cupping it. The thumb ran over his quivering lips. “Meleth, I could not love another if I wanted to.”

Thranduil’s expression softened. “You must,” he breathed. He tried to lower his gaze, but Legolas’ hand lifted his head enough to make their eyes meet again. His parent’s relentlessness did not have the power to discourage him further.

“Is this your will?” he asked with unprecedented boldness. “Answer me truthfully. Do you wish to renounce me? To cast me off as if I’m nothing? Are you ready to forget my love, my touch, all that I ever gave you? To break your every vow?” He felt Thranduil’s shoulders slacken gradually, as though a burden was being taken off them, and he suddenly knew that not only would the king not lie to him, but he wouldn’t lie to himself either. “No,” Legolas said, his smirk changing into the warmest smile, and his lips brushed the hair at his father’s temple ever so lightly. “The answer is no. And how could it be other than that when I alone know your heart’s desire and how to fulfill it?”

He kept Thranduil’s head into place with his left hand, while his right one slipped beneath the purple silk of his robe, pushing it aside, and rested against the smooth, muscular chest for a while. It felt like holding the Elvenking’s heart in his palm, that frantic was its beating. Legolas suppressed a worried sigh, wishing his parent’s perturbation away.

“This guilt you feel,” he said, “you haven’t known it before. It stems from your ill-omened vision, I am sure. But you are blameless, adar nín, for all you did was give me love in all the ways you knew how. My gratitude to you is infinite.” As the emotion flowing from his own words washed through him, he closed his eyes and sealed his statement with a kiss full of love to the king’s brow. In his determination to protect him even from himself and his own troubled mind, a sense of possession awoke in the prince that fueled his ambition. Thranduil was his – _his_ father, _his_ lover – and had been his only, for such an enormous part of the younger elf’s life Legolas couldn’t accept it being any other way. If anyone or anything tried to stand between them, he would fight to the death before letting it happen.

“I wish to show you,” he continued in a low-toned voice, “the depth and fullness of it.” His fingers flexed on his father’s chest, their pads sliding over the warm skin with slow, sensual ease. When two of them enclosed around the hardness of a nipple and rolled it between them ever so delicately, removing any doubt as to the nature of his touch, the Elvenking’s hand clamped over his wrist, so tightly the prince winced at the sudden pressure.

“Legolas,” he called his name at the same time, with such stern rigor he needed no more words to convey his command. But his son was not going to comply with it anyway. _Your love is light_ , he remembered Thranduil telling him once, long before strange visions had started to impair his judgment. Legolas was not going to ever let him walk in the shadow. 

“Do not attempt to stop me, my beloved king,” he warned kindly, the hand under his father’s jaw briefly ascending to stroke his cheek with the back of its fingers. “Do not deny yourself the pleasure I can give you. Forget your worries and distress, for they are petty and unworthy of attention. Just let the touch of my hand banish them for good.” He waited, hoping against hope that Thranduil would yield.

It seemed like an eternity later when the mirror finally showed him the frown of disapproval leaving his parent’s face. He resumed his caresses, staggeringly at first, and even though the grip on his wrist had not loosened, the Elvenking’s hand was not restrictive any longer. Legolas’ deft strokes became more intimate as his fingers dragged across the firm flesh with care and passion, and it wasn’t long until he made his father shiver and draw in his breath with restrained gasps. Thranduil’s chest pushed forward as his back slowly arched, his tender nipples now willing prey to the prince’s sweet touch. He was enjoying it, no doubt, but for a moment, hesitation took over Legolas’ mind. He could sense the trouble awakened in his father by his own lustful reactions, and for the first time he wondered if what he was doing was right. The last thing he wanted was to add to Thranduil’s anxiety. The king’s previous reluctance to his son’s advances, regardless of its cause, suddenly made the younger elf feel as though he was constraining his parent to accept something he was currently somehow unwilling to. That revolted him so much he stopped his ministrations altogether, but the very next second, Thranduil released his wrist unexpectedly and reached for his shoulder instead. He held on to him, pulling him down even closer in silent supplication for him to go on, and it was the impulse Legolas needed in order to forget his doubts.

He whispered loving words in his father’s ear as his hand slid lower, on his abdomen, his fingertips tracing the well-defined muscles there with feather-light touches. Thranduil’s skin was softer than the silk brushing against the back of Legolas’ fingers, and caressing it was pure indulgence for the prince. Unable to hold back a wanton sigh, the younger elf lost himself in the delight of their closeness, in the unique sensation stirred in him by the king’s own pleasure. His armor – rough leather and cold metal – pressed against Thranduil’s lightly clad body, barely protected by the robe’s flimsy fabric, and it aroused him no end to feel his father like that, so fragile, so under his control. It wasn’t real, he knew. He could have only as much power over him as the Elvenking would allow him to, yet never enough to truly control him. But even the illusion of it, or perhaps precisely the fact that it was just an illusion, was so very appealing. It made Legolas tremble in excitement and his hand move more impatiently, with increasing urgency.    

When he finally reached Thranduil’s cock, finding it fully erect did not surprise him in the least. He dragged the tip of his forefinger down its entire length in a slow, purposeful motion, and as it throbbed with need under his touch, the king let out a choked whimper that sent a shiver down Legolas’ spine. “Just relax, ada,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “Just let yourself feel.” He closed his fist loosely around the base of Thranduil’s erection and briefly pumped once before he let it slide up all the way along it, fully enveloping the engorged head in his palm. He paused shortly while his forefinger and thumb joined in a tight ring that squeezed his father’s shaft as he then gave it a full stroke, traveling down to the base and back up again with perfect speed. A moan made its way out of the Elvenking’s mouth, and a thick stream of clear fluid flowed freely from the swollen tip of his member, trickling down its sides and over his son’s skilled fingers.

Pleasing Thranduil had always been Legolas’ highest aim. It gave him the greatest satisfaction to see contentment in his father’s expression and know he was the one who had brought it forth. He took his time, therefore, to revel in the ecstatic look on the king’s face as his hand moved up and down his slick, impossibly hard shaft, to hungrily watch the way his eyelids dropped in pleasure and his lips parted to let out sweet, no longer restrained moans. “Oh Valar! Ada,” Legolas panted, his own cock twitching desperately in the confines of his leggings, “you are so beautiful my heart aches.” Thranduil closed his eyes at the compliment, transported to a realm of utter bliss. The prince guided his head gingerly, tilting it to the side for better access, and sunk his teeth into the delicate skin under the earlobe, finishing the shallow bite with a mild suction and a kiss.

“Legolas,” the king whimpered, “my son, my love…” His grip on the younger elf’s shoulder intensified, while his other hand clutched the table’s edge, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on. He craved release, and Legolas was going to give it to him without delay. This was no time for needless teasing.

Curling his fingers around his father’s demanding erection with variable pressure, the prince sped up his strokes, not once breaking his rhythm. The swirling motion of his hand drew husky, plaintive groans from Thranduil’s lips, and he felt him leaning against his chest for support and exposing more of his neck to his son’s fierce, eager kisses. His throat vibrated with the power of his cries beneath Legolas’ mouth.

When his climax became inevitable, the Elvenking’s eyes opened and met his lover’s in the mirror once more. They looked at each other lovingly as Legolas slowly eased the pressure on his parent’s cock and adjusted the pace of his strokes, ceasing them eventually the moment he felt him close enough to his peak. The prince found what he knew was the most sensitive spot on Thranduil’s entire shaft, somewhere right under its tip, and thumbed it softly, maintaining a firm hold on the hot, pulsing flesh.

The shiver that ran through the king’s being when a deep, tempestuous orgasm took him over was so mighty it echoed in Legolas’ body as well. Thranduil let out a single short cry as his seed began to spill over his son’s now shaking hand, and then his breath temporarily lodged in his throat. Not one word did he utter, not even when it started to come out in gasping sobs a moment later. Faint, quiet moans were all he could emit when Legolas moved his fingers lightly along his limping sex, coaxing the last drops of essence out of him. He let go of the prince’s shoulder and his both arms fell to his sides in a gesture of complete surrender, his gasps quieting and his muscles relaxing to the point of losing all tension. He turned his head to look at the younger elf directly, his jaw slipping easily from Legolas’ weakened grip. “My weakness,” he defined him, staring at him with loving eyes devoid of any guilt. “And my strength.”

The prince smiled at him affectionately, with obvious relief, his own arousal unimportant to him now. He removed his hand from underneath the ruined robe, and staring into the pair of eyes in front of him, he licked his forefinger clean with a swipe of his tongue before he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on the king’s lips.

Thranduil refused to allow him though. With a sudden move, his left fist clenched around his son’s throat steadily, keeping him away and robbing him of the ability to swallow. “Ada–” the younger elf mouthed in feeble protest, but yielded nevertheless to his parent’s absolute and undeniable control. His confusion was given no time to grow. Thranduil kissed him like he was thirsty and Legolas’ lips were water, claiming his warm mouth forcefully, with breathtaking dominance. The prince took in the king’s insistent tongue that pushed against his in a most imperious manner, eager to taste, to explore, to duel and to win. He was being drawn into a vortex of sensations as his father deepened that devouring kiss every second, and he whimpered helplessly, clinging to him. His skin tingled all over while pure delight rippled through his body and gathered swiftly at his groin, and it felt good, exquisite, unlike anything else. A familiar dizziness pressed at his temples again. He had to close his eyes in order not to fall, but his legs had already started to tremble with the intensity of his feelings. He almost couldn’t bear the pleasure anymore, yet Thranduil kept kissing him as if he was never going to stop, pouring more bliss into him with every swirl of his tongue. There was nothing more the king needed to do. Even without his touch, Legolas’ erection pulsated against his damp, too tight leggings, filling with consuming warmth.

A deep, guttural sound escaped the prince’s throat when, at the end of his rapturous agony, the climax he had long been awaiting hit him like a sudden, overwhelming flood. In vain he held on to his father as well as he could. His knees buckled and eventually gave in, and he dropped to the floor, the king’s lips leaving his just as he reached the ground. It was Thranduil’s turn to hold him through the orgasmic burst within him, and Legolas let himself cradled by his parent’s strong arms as unadulterated pleasure spread outward from his loins throughout his core and limbs.

When the convulsions shaking him began to subside, he sat at the king’s feet and rested his head on his thigh, waiting for his breath to settle down. He didn’t know for how long he stayed there, lost in the perfect feeling of having his father close. Thranduil’s fingers were ceaselessly running through his hair, and all Legolas could think was that he wouldn’t trade that moment for anything in the whole wide world. It was precisely why he didn’t want it to end. “Do not slip away from me, ada,” he whispered, and his arms circled his beloved’s waist. “Promise me.” He raised his face from Thranduil’s lap to look at him, demanding an answer, praying for it to be the one that he expected.

“I fear it is too late either way,” the king responded with an imperceptible, yet definite nod of approval. There was resignation in his eyes, but far more love, and a smidge of faith which told Legolas that all was far from being lost. “I do not think I can protect you any longer.”

“Perhaps the time has come for me to protect _you_ ,” the prince said, his tone expressing an unspoken vow. “Although I may not succeed, if you would allow me, I shall try my best. And I’ll not let your torment be in vain. If we are to die, then let us not give up our lives without a fight.”

Thranduil cupped his face and gave him a contemplative smile as his thumbs stroked his cheeks with fervent tenderness. He remained silent though, and Legolas, understanding the magnitude of his request, did not press for a decision. After all, he needed nobody’s consent to make the commitment he was ready for.

In his heart, he had already made it.


End file.
